


and stars forever dwell

by aijee



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Aspiring Dragon Caretaker is (mostly) on board with that, Fantasy, Local Clumsy Boy learns to ride dragons, M/M, Schmoop, Wartime Conflict, but really it’s schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aijee/pseuds/aijee
Summary: “I’m Wonwoo. My dad is the caretaker here, but you already knew that.”Wonwoo is right, and Mingyu is a liar.Sir Jeon is the resident caretaker of these dragons—the best in the capital—and his son, Wonwoo? Well, Mingyu wouldn’t call him a stranger.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Comments: 48
Kudos: 237





	and stars forever dwell

**Author's Note:**

> To y’all—AKA me—obsessed with WW with cats, let me raise you: WW with dragons. This idea then spiraled into an entirely self-indulgent piece influenced by my recurrent obsession with medieval fantasy and the dramatic, saccharine romance typically associated with it.
> 
> The title is from a poem in the LOTR series, “In western lands beneath the Sun.”

Though here at journey's end I lie […]  
and Stars for ever dwell:  
I will not say the Day is done,  
nor bid the Stars farewell.

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Return of the King_

* * *

“You’re going to lose a finger.”

Mingyu nearly jumps twice his height into the air.

“I’m joking. Well, not really. That one actually bites.”

“O-Oh, uh,” Mingyu says rather intelligently. He scrambles up, brushes down his trousers, and bows. “I don’t mean to trespass. I was just—I wanted to see her again. Before orientation tomorrow.”

“If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t’ve just implied that you trespass regularly.” The stranger isn’t any taller or much older than Mingyu. Shaggy hair, loose sleeping shirt and feet bare. Behind thick lenses, his eyes reflect the glint of the mosaic-encrusted lights of the dragon barn, where every other young whelp is asleep except for one. “I hope you didn’t name her.”

“Quartz,” Mingyu says, warm-faced.

The stranger tuts his tongue. “Now you’re attached. That’s dangerous.”

“A little danger has never stopped me before.”

“I can see that.”

Mingyu feels a presence settle next to him and run both sets of knuckles over the baby ridgeback’s neck. Elicited is this low, rumbling purr Mingyu has only ever received a miraculous handful of times. Quartz sounds relaxed. It shows in her eyes. This is the first time Mingyu has seen them in any other state besides threateningly guarded or hesitatingly less-guarded.

There’s a small, devious smile in the corner of Mingyu’s vision. “A little danger’s good for anyone interested in dragon riding.”

Mingyu gulps. His chest aches inexplicably.

“I’m Mingyu,” he blurts.

The stranger scratches Quartz’s chin, and she purrs again. “I’m Wonwoo. My dad is the caretaker here, but you probably already knew that.”

Wonwoo is right, and Mingyu is a liar.

Sir Jeon is the head caretaker of these dragons—the best in the capital—and his son, Wonwoo? Well, Mingyu wouldn’t call him a stranger.

Being a dragon rider is, like, the coolest job a young boy could possibly aspire for. Dragons are unquestionably awesome. Riding them is at least ten steps up the Awesome Hierarchy.

Mingyu isn’t any different. Through a little field smarts and waves of inexplicably dumb luck, he somehow scraped through entrance exams for the most sought-after dragon riding program in the kingdom. He still wonders how a klutz like him managed to trip into such a revered establishment, but here he is and he isn’t about to question anything.

Aside from the petulant desire to live his childhood dream, Mingyu admits he applied for...other reasons.

Quartz was a nameless egg when he first met her. He’d gone on his first tour of the academy as a child, in awe of absolutely everything his eyes met. On the leg of the tour inside the famous dragon barns, Sir Jeon had come to greet the visitors with an egg cradled in his arms, just about as large as little Mingyu himself.

Sir Jeon bent down to let Mingyu touch the soft, scaly shell.

“How does it feel?” Sir Jeon had asked.

“It feels,” young Mingyu murmured, “It feels warm.”

And, lo and behold, the egg started hatching. Fate was the only explanation, Mingyu told himself—has been telling himself since.

Of course, the visitors had to be escorted out of the barn as soon as possible since baby dragons are known to be quite fiery after birth. But few dragon eggs had as delicate, almost radiant of a color as the one Mingyu saw, so it was easy to find her when he snuck into the barn for the first time.

It was the night he got the acceptance. He was so emboldened with adrenaline that he just _had_ to find her.

That's the night he first saw Wonwoo.

He was assisting his father with tying up loose ends for the evening: guiding the rowdier whelps to their mothers, cleaning up fallen hay, humming something gentle to the star crystals to dim them down for the night.

The last thing Mingyu remembers was the way Wonwoo sung to Quartz until she fell asleep.

Mingyu did sneak in—and will continue to do so—but, that evening, he couldn't bring himself to do anythingexcept watch.

“She hatched prematurely,” Wonwoo says, across from Mingyu, on the floor of the barn. Quartz is settled on Wonwoo’s lap, pawing and mewling at the feathered toy in Wonwoo’s agile fingers. “That’s why she's smaller than the others.”

Mingyu has been living in the dorms for a solid week now, so the following evening, of course, meant another arbitrary anniversary-slash-excuse to visit Quartz and—yeah, um, to visit her.

“I see,” Mingyu says with a nod. “Does that mean she won’t grow big? Like, as big as a normal dragon?”

“Not sure,” Wonwoo says. “We don’t get enough premature hatchlings here. But, if her fire’s strong enough, it might not matter.”

“How do you make it strong?”

Mingyu has only ever seen Wonwoo smile a few times. It’s almost always soft and out of reflex, in the face of wrestling dragon babies, their purring mothers, a face-lick or a gentle nibble at the hem of his shirt during feeding time. It’s done out of fondness for each and every one of the creatures sitting under this roof. He wants to be a master caretaker like his father, he once said.

However, this time, just as it was only once before, Wonwoo’s smile isn’t any of that.

It’s intentionally mischievous, a little devious, something enigmatic and secretive and _oh_ , what a dangerous sight it is to see now. It’s like a full moon after a month of dark, starless skies—like seeing only a fraction of what the sun is capable of doing during the summer solstice.

“How do you make its fire strong?” Wonwoo echoes, eyebrows raised.

He tosses the toy. Mingyu barely catches it.

“You give it a challenge,” says Wonwoo.

It takes a two years (really one and a half) for Mingyu to find that studying isn’t his strong point, but he tries to make up for it in heart since there’s so much to go around. His teachers don’t appreciate it as much, often saying things like “Yelling things enthusiastically won’t make your answers any less incorrect, Young Master Kim.” Beast theory is his least favorite class. Flying physics is a little more bearable.

His favorite class, oddly enough, isn’t exactly a class.

“Sit up straighter! She can smell your fear!”

“How the hell can you _smell_ fear?!”

“Well—”

“Also I am literally _screaming!_ If that doesn’t show fear— _oh god—”_

Mingyu can easily imagine Wonwoo, with all his quietude and simple poise, hiding quiet chuckles behind his hand. A wind-summoning talisman sits soundly in his shirt pocket. Quartz, who has grown into the size of a modest horse, sits close to Wonwoo’s left leg, pawing at the stitches in his trousers or shooting embers at the nearby grasshoppers.

Meanwhile, Mingyu is strapped atop Quartz’s goliath mother, _very_ many meters above the ground, with a sudden despair for his life choices seeing as he might not have many left to make. Today’s lesson is about turbulence. This is probably the least attractive he’s ever been.

Despite morality (and nausea) looming over his shoulder, Mingyu has made it a point to attend these secret lessons without fail. Honestly, riding is one of the few skills he seems to be able to impress the instructors with anyway. He has a natural proclivity for danger and the quick-thinking instincts for it. He aces the flight tests even in the absence of Wonwoo’s wealth of advice—regardless of what the screams at the moment may tell you.

A little extra “studying” doesn’t hurt, though.

“Here,” Wonwoo says, rubbing Mingyu’s back with every hurling noise. He offers a flask of water and some stale breakfast cookies from the dining hall. “You did well.”

“I literally,” Mingyu bites, “couldn’t stop,” Mingyu drinks, “vomiting,” he garbles through his desperate efforts to replace what was lost. “When is a dragon ever going to purposefully fly like that? When are winds ever going to be that tumultuous? This entire country is _meadows_ and _flower patches,_ for god’s sakes.”

He doesn’t mean to be so sour, they both know. Mingyu as a person is rarely ever anything but the so-called flowers and meadows around them.

When Wonwoo chuckles almost apologetically, softly, as gentle and light as the clouds in the sky— _shit_ , well, Mingyu can’t feel even an ounce of remorse in his body.

“First of all,” Wonwoo tuts, “You never know when you might need the skills to navigate through turbulence, so you have to learn to control your nausea. Second of all, I’m trying to saturate your scent with that of Quartz’s mother. This is the first step in gaining the attention and respect of the children.”

“So do I...smell like dragon mom?”

“Dragon guardian, if you’re going to be so sensitive about it.”

“No no, I just—ugh,” Mingyu groans into his hands.

Wonwoo rushes to crouch again, thinking it’s another punch of vomit. It’s not. Mingyu just doesn’t know what to say and now Wonwoo is _very_ close.

“If it means anything,” Wonwoo offers, “I think dragons smell really nice.”

“Says someone who probably smells like dragons more than humans,” Mingyu mutters without venom. “But I guess that’s why they listen to you.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I wouldn’t think it was.”

Wonwoo chuckles again. It’s strangely calming, like a magic spell to quell dizziness and stomach pains (but not the sore emptiness after that).

“Let’s call it a day,” Wonwoo declares, even though the blue sky has yet to see any orange. “I’ll bring the beasts back to the barns. You should wash your mouth and then eat something more proper.”

“I,” Mingyu starts. Something catches in his throat.

As Wonwoo stares at him, expression vague but eyebrows raised in a touch of something teasing—curious, maybe—Mingyu wonders whether this hesitation is from the nausea or the nervousness. Maybe both. Mingyu's taste for new horizons burns like an olympic torch, unmatched among his peers and often to a fault. And yet it routinely extinguishes in the face of quiet, furtive glimmers in these mid-afternoon hours.

Quartz is still wrapped around Wonwoo’s leg while her mother is nipping at the rough edges of Wonwoo’s shirt. Their scales are like opalescent seawater. Wonwoo’s hair blows in the wind. This—this is an image of the feral, the arcane, the ancient all obediently wrapped around the paradoxical strength and fragility of man.

A mere glance runs Mingyu of all his remaining breath.

“Will you go with me?” he croaks. “To the dining hall. When you’re, um, done. With the dragons.”

“Still feeling sick?”

“I, uh, yes?”

Mingyu can’t lie to save his life. Wonwoo can probably tell, probably _has_ been able to tell for quite some time. Face already bloodshot from earlier, Mingyu hopes the oncoming heat at his cheeks is disguised. (It isn’t.)

Wonwoo offers up a hand. The now beginnings of the sunset outline him in feathered, golden light.

Mingyu rubs the clamminess of his palm on his trousers—“It’s from gripping the reigns so tightly,” he will explain later, to little avail—before taking the offer with a purposeful grip. He stands up, realizes the white noise in his calves, and grips onto Wonwoo’s arms to stop them both from face-planting into the earth.

Panicked, Mingyu opens his mouth to utter, _I’m so so sorry_ , or, _I-I-I didn’t mean to grab you like that_ , or, _My brain-to-leg connection needs work sometimes?_

Then, a sudden whip of wind fills Mingyu with the smell of cherry wood, burnt leather scraps, and clean stone. Wonwoo is a visage of river calmness tinged with ripples of irritation at the sudden gust. Mingyu’s skull is brimful with it all.

“Looks like the beasts aren’t the only ones who need a handler,” Wonwoo jokes once he rakes the hair out of his eyes. Their glimmers are, true to form, like dragon scales. “I’d be happy to accompany you to the dining hall.”

Quartz makes a whining noise. Her mother snorts at her, as if to shush her.

“After I bring these ones to their beds, of course.”

It is both a blessing and a curse for Wonwoo to separate so quickly and so easily. The dizziness is less fierce, but so is the warmth that came with it.

With the last vestiges of his strength, Mingyu gathers up the saddle and other riding accoutrement before following Wonwoo to the dragon barns.

That night is filled with mixed rice cooked in lamb stock, meats soaked in red wine, and far too many frosted spice cakes eaten to comfortably admit. Wonwoo is old enough for alcohol while Mingyu trails a year behind. Little is consumed in hindsight, but Wonwoo’s face still mirrored the unfurling of rose buds from the brightest days of spring. Perhaps, without his conscious knowledge, Mingyu had actually been paying _too_ much attention in his poetry classes.

At the intersection between the student dorms and the caretakers’ quarters, Wonwoo bids Mingyu good night. The desire to say something, _do_ something, is unbearably palpable—more so for a sober Mingyu than a loosened Wonwoo, as it seems.

Herein lies two options: in one hand is a flower that will bloom when Mother Nature deems it opportune to do so; in the other, a walnut whose hardened shell has grown soft enough to be cracked apart. Both carry different treasures, both just as precious.

However, before Mingyu gets a chance to pick, there is a sweet, soft pressure lingering at the corner of his mouth. It is brief. It is quick. And when it’s over, Mingyu’s mind scrambles to figure out whether it had happened at all.

“Good night,” is what Mingyu is left with.

That night, Mingyu dreams of the shape of Wonwoo’s lips around those words.

Mingyu admits that he isn’t the fastest person in his classes, but it isn’t hard to figure out that Wonwoo is avoiding him. Actively.

Wonwoo, ever more clever, is quick to strategize a new schedule distinct from the one Mingyu had memorized from routine. No longer does Wonwoo rise at the usual six AM to feed the whelps and groom the older dragons. No longer does Wonwoo attend lunch half past noon to avoid the congested line-ups. No longer does Wonwoo send letters for Mingyu about their next secret training lesson with Quartz. Mingyu hasn’t had his hair or fingernails singed in days and it’s almost maddening how much he misses it—alongside other things he’d gotten used to.

A mountain of logic is unnecessary to conclude that such evasion is because of that kiss. Of course. Maybe Wonwoo had imbibed more than Mingyu thought he did. Was it shame that compelled Wonwoo to drive this wedge? Was graceful and purposefully-worded Wonwoo even capable of experiencing shame?

“I will carry you to an early grave if your shit isn’t sorted soon,” scowls Minghao, Mingyu’s closest friend despite the coarseness. At a library volume, he sounds even more scathing. “Even I, who has exchanged barely a nod with Sir Jeon’s son, can tell that he would never engage in endeavors that don’t already compel him.”

“But the wine—”

“Was merely a catalyst for something you could not do yourself. In fact, you should thank the liquor station the next time you visit the dining hall. Otherwise, it would have taken a marriage pact and elopement for you to feel like a confession of any sort was appropriate.”

Mingyu frowns. Minghao flips a page in his notebook with a _snap_.

“Sir Jeon’s son isn’t a piece of spun glass,” Minghao says exasperatedly. “Surely, you can see that he does not wish to be seen as such.”

“And this is evidenced by his avoidance?”

“Perhaps he wishes for you to find him.”

“I’ve been trying!”

“The absence of any success _strongly_ suggests that your efforts are lacking.” Minghao sighs something suffering. “You’ve settled for the shallower, winding path while he’s chosen a very steep staircase. My friend, you have some catching up to do.”

Indeed, Mingyu does.

Past the ten o’clock curfew, Mingyu manages to escape the confines of the dorms to slip into the dragon barn fields. If Wonwoo will remain so stubborn in his game of shadows, then so be it. At least Mingyu can sneak out to seek out Quartz. For peace of mind, he tells himself.

In the midst of staring peacefully at Quartz’s sleeping face, Mingyu hears something.

Since his entrance to the academy long ago, he has developed a keener set of senses. So it is elementary for him to detect the crack of grass blades outside. It sounds like too many for a mere squirrel or rat, too little for more than one or two people.

Mingyu darts out of the barn, careful to re-lock the backdoor. His own footsteps are quiet and cognizant, as instructed repeatedly by his combat training. Muscles tensed, eyes alert, and sash now undone from his waist, now in his hands—Mingyu is lightning quick to track the abnormal presence and render it motionless against the barn wall with the full force of his body.

“Who are you and what are—”

The words stop cold. How serendipitous for the… _pursuit_ to resume here.

“I am so very sorry,” Mingyu says, nearly at a plead. He quickly releases Wonwoo from his grip and slackens the sash he’d wrapped around Wonwoo’s neck. “I thought you were a robber or spy or something and—and I just— I got worried for the dragons, and—”

Wonwoo coughs particularly loudly. It shuts Mingyu up.

“How ironic,” Wonwoo says hoarsely, fingers rubbing at his jugular, “for a regular trespasser to say such a thing.”

“It’s no longer trespassing when the owner extends regular invitations.”

“That is…fair.”

The night is still once more. The only sounds now are the ambient chorus of night owls and lazy evening breezes.

“I have not seen you in a while,” Mingyu says.

“That was the intention.” Wonwoo’s voice is oddly flat, as if hesitant to show anything more.

Mingyu’s brows pinch. “Why?”

“You need an explanation?”

“I do.”

The honesty is rampant in Mingyu’s simple utterance, enough for even Wonwoo’s heightened stance to relax a bit.

“Because,” says Wonwoo, the heaving effort straining his usually clear tones, “I had drunk too many a glass of wine and, in my stupor, kissed you before immediately parting for the night. I couldn’t bear to face you after that.”

Something bitter pools in the pit of Mingyu’s stomach. So it was the alcohol, he thinks.

“The clarity of your speech during dinner was impressive, then,” says Mingyu, “if you had been so intoxicated as to kiss me afterwards.”

“That’s not! That’s not…” Wonwoo bites his lip, as if the physical barrier will save the rest of the sentence from spilling. Oh, how desperately Mingyu wishes to ruin that barrier. “That’s not what I mean.”

It is only when Wonwoo has his hands on Mingyu’s shoulders, pushes away with a neat shove, does Mingyu realize how closely he had stayed to Wonwoo’s body as it is pressed against the brick and mortar.

Wonwoo’s fingers dig in. They do not let go despite their trembling inclination to do so.

How strange it is to see hesitance in someone who never showed it prior. How strange it feels to be given this sudden opportunity of control, as if Mingyu had been handed the first ripened stone fruit of summer. This bite was an offer, should the fancy strike him. The only shame in this moment is how obvious a sign it took for Mingyu to see that Wonwoo also yearned for the sweet taste.

Wonwoo startles when Mingyu starts tying the sash around him. Wonwoo’s tunic and pants clearly have no need for ties. Mingyu’s actions only point towards the evident openness of Mingyu’s night shirt, as well as the slimness of Wonwoo’s waist, which make both their faces burn brightly under the crystal night lights hung from the barn’s roof.

At his final tug, Mingyu settles his fingers around the fabric loop. Mingyu’s grip is not tight by any means, but Wonwoo would be daft to not realize the implications.

“Were you really drunk?” Mingyu asks quietly.

The way he pulls Wonwoo forward is terribly unsubtle. Wonwoo does not resist.

“Not enough,” is the answer, “to not know what I was doing.”

Words bleed into this moment: _How do you make its fire strong? You give it a challenge._

For all the breaths and sounds Mingyu has lost upon simply _being_ in Wonwoo’s presence, it is only right for the same to be stolen from Wonwoo when Mingyu kisses him. There is the initial shock, but following that is a lush, immediate yield. The sash serves its double purpose as both Mingyu’s intentions and his handles to hold onto. A palm settles on Mingyu’s vulnerable chest; the interface nearly burns Mingyu alive.

They are young. They are fervent. It is like taking flight for the first time—full of adrenaline, violent wind, sights rushing past in a stream of colors and reality. In this moment, there are only two companions against a world that has yet to follow.

Mingyu is the first to break with a gasp. His hands are shaking. It feels like he’s going to cry and laugh at the same time.

This is a comparison as old as romantic writing itself, but it is truly baffling how drunk one can be simply from kissing. Wonwoo, Jeon Wonwoo, is so, so beautiful like this. Framed in moonlight and crystalline glow, hair a crow’s nest, lips just barely ajar to make up for the air his nose can’t intake fast enough. His cheeks have grown scarlet. His gaze is heavy and sweet. He looks more drunken now, more than he had on actual alcohol.

“Thank you,” Mingyu says. His skin prickles like a field firecrackers, ready to be lit at the mercy of the person in his arms. “I have missed you.”

He means exactly that, but also _I wished to have courted you sooner, more obviously, more properly. Please forgive me._

Wonwoo smiles. The gesture still retains his usual gentility with hints of mischief. “I have missed you, too.” _I know. I forgive you. I hope you forgive me as well._ “I am keeping your sash, by the way.”

Mingyu raises his brows, grin threatening to split his face. “Ah, as a memory of me? Something you will use as a token of tonight? Of us?”

“Now that you mention it, for the future, sure,” Wonwoo says. “But I simply meant that I prefer it off of you right now.”

Mingyu need no more invitation to burn his lips with a second kiss.

Training with Quartz becomes much more productive. Wonwoo says it’s because she has matured greatly since last year. Mingyu says it’s because he himself smells more like Wonwoo now.

For all of Quartz and Mingyu’s bickering leading up to this moment, they make an indubitably great riding team. Wonwoo had feared that Mingyu, no longer the skinny weasel of a child he was when they first met, had grown too big for her. Quartz herself has grown to a size not exactly comparable to her mother, but her musculature is dense and fully capable of taking Mingyu’s weight and a little more for padded armor. It is the barest essentials for dragon riding. For now, it is enough.

“You really must fix your posture,” Wonwoo chastises the moment Mingyu and Quartz have landed. “Bending over all hunched like that will expose your soft, vulnerable eyes to her _very_ sharp horns. I swear, you will lose an eye one day.”

Mingyu scoffs. “If that were to happen, it would have already.”

“You will also ruin your spine, you know. My father can attest to it.”

Mingyu’s expression lights up as he hurriedly undoes his straps and hops over to where Wonwoo is standing with food and drink. “Sir Jeon was also a dragon rider? When? Here? Why is he now a caretaker?”

“I should have expected that that would be the only thing you would hear.” Wonwoo nudges Mingyu’s arm with the refreshments. “At least eat and cool yourself down before I indulge you, especially since you couldn’t steer away from the apple orchard like I’d strictly instructed.”

“We only brushed the edge of it!”

“And now there are at least four trees with missing, scraped, or bruised apples! What explanation could there be besides a rampant and flying beast? I will have to bear the brunt of the scolding, you menace.”

Mingyu tips his head back to laugh. The heat is beating on his skin, but he does not mind. He will soon rejoin Wonwoo at the shady cedars, anyway, to undo his flying uniform and tie Quartz to the weathered trunk.

“He was a student at a distant academy, not as awfully priced and gilded as this one,” Wonwoo says as Mingyu takes a seat next to him. “He had been raised in the mountains, where any possibility of flying in the sky was moot at best. But then he married my mother, wealthier than he, and moved to her home city. There, he trained to ride dragons.”

“He is not infirm nor too old, if I recall. Did he retire early?”

Wonwoo sighs, taking the waterskin from Mingyu to take a swig himself. “He did. He injured his eyes during a messenger mission and no longer met flying requirements.”

“Ah,” Mingyu says, looking away from the black frames on Wonwoo’s face. “I forgot about that.”

“Please, do not pity us if you are. We are more than happy caring for the beasts.”

“I just,” Mingyu says, feeling the heat trickle back into his skin despite the shade. “I sometimes wish we could, you know, fly together.” And then, a spark of idea hits. “Oh, _wait—”_

Just as the words leave his mouth, Mingyu jumps up and dashes to Quartz. He hurriedly releases her from the heft of the metal plates and leather bound to her body, all except for the saddle, essential straps, and reigns. Then he runs to Wonwoo and motions for him to get up.

“What are you—”

“Trust me.”

“I’ve never—”

_“Trust me.”_

Wonwoo reluctantly obliges. He allows Mingyu to tie the intricate ties of the flying uniform upon him, and help Wonwoo onto Quartz’s back. She does nothing but bite at the dry grass in front of her and purr a little.

As soon as Wonwoo seems settled onto the saddle, Mingyu jumps on.

“Move closer,” he tells Wonwoo, who sits behind him, “and tie the sash around us. It should be long enough.”

Wonwoo stares at Mingyu incredulously, as if he’d said the sky was purple and the seas were pink.

“That way, you won’t fall off,” Mingyu explains.

“Or _both_ of us will at a much faster falling speed!” Wonwoo almost yells.

Before Wonwoo can voice another scold, Mingyu twists around to kiss him firmly. Wonwoo relaxes out of habit, exactly as Mingyu had anticipated, which allows him to swiftly snatch the loose wrap around Wonwoo’s waist and tie the two of them together.

Wonwoo is gives off short, stunned huffs when Mingyu is done. They are pressed chest to back with only two layers of summer cloth and minimal leather armor between them. Space is not even plausible at this point because Mingyu had, unsurprisingly, underestimated the length of the sash.

“A menace,” Wonwoo says as he brings his arms to rest around Mingyu’s torso. “I swear, if we both die, I will haunt you forever in the afterlife.”

Mingyu laughs again. He brings one of Wonwoo’s hands to his lips. “I am glad that we will chase each other even then. Are you ready?”

“In theory, yes. In actual practice, no.”

“Sounds about right!” Mingyu says quite loudly to combat the slow bleat of Quartz’s wings. “Hold on tight!”

The sound of Wonwoo’s screams (and eventual sighs of awe) are like music to Mingyu’s ears.

The call for war is unexpected and awfully cold-blooded. It is like sitting in a hot spring for hours before being slapped with a slab of metal.

This is what the academy has been for, Mingyu realizes. It is no longer the long-sought dream of learning to take to the infinite skies, riding on the rigid backs of old creatures who burn with eternal, earthly fires. Instead, it is a training facility to produce soldiers for the imminent threat of human conflict. It has been centuries since their kingdom engaged in anything of the sort. But now it is, and they all must suffer for it.

“They can’t make you go,” Wonwoo says sternly after the news is cast. They are sat behind a dragon barn during their usual nightly rendezvous. “You’ve only recently turned of age. You haven’t graduated yet. You don’t even have your license.”

Mingyu shakes his head, kisses Wonwoo’s knuckles with a reverence that he may not be able to show for much longer. “The process will be expedited so we are able to go as soon as the first and second waves are overturned. Wartime rules, I suppose.”

“And you’re just—you’re _okay_ with this?”

“I took an oath at the entrance ceremony. You know this.”

“I do,” Wonwoo says, gripping Mingyu’s fingers tighter. “Must you go so easily? Many have not pledged their word as you have, but they are older or more experienced in riding and are more suited to take your place.”

“It is my duty,” Mingyu says simply, maneuvering his way onto Wonwoo’s lap. “I am bound by my words.”

Wonwoo rests his forehead against Mingyu’s collarbone. He huffs. “You are bound too easily by something as intangible as that.”

“What are we without our words?”

Wonwoo has no answer to that, or perhaps the silence itself is an entire answer. He places a kiss to the cooled skin before him. Mingyu laughs a little at the ticklish sensation.

“I do wish that I am given a proper send-off prior to my departure,” Mingyu murmurs. “Something I can dream of and anticipate for my return.”

There is a scoff in Wonwoo’s throat, a sound of both disbelief and wretched relief at the idea of Mingyu returning safe and sound—or, at the very least, returning. When Wonwoo looks up, Mingyu sees that his eyes, unhidden for only narrow times in the day, are now very, clearly sad.

Mingyu feels Wonwoo’s hands settle around his neck, just beneath the cold heaviness of Mingyu’s damp hair. The calloused touch is so careful, unsure, for reasons far too different from those during their first tryst together.

“You will return,” Wonwoo says like it’s a command. “You will return to me, do you understand?”

A kiss to the forehead. “I do.”

“And you will be intact with all your limbs on your person. If you must lose a finger or two, then so be it. But I fully expect that you return to me almost entirely in one piece _at the minimum_.”

A kiss to the nose. “Yes.”

“You are to write to me as often as you can. I will do the same. You must—you must promise me this meager of a luxury.”

A kiss to the lips. “I promise.”

It pains Mingyu to say such things—not because he does not mean them. Mingyu is nothing if not a man of his word. Perhaps this is something he was born with. Perhaps it is something he has cultivated in the presence of someone who makes him feel that way.

These combinations of utterances feel more naked than actual bodies. Wonwoo’s eyes tell Mingyu that.

“Y-You must promise me as well,” Mingyu says, _urges_. The entire weight of his body and soul are bearing down on Wonwoo. “Even if I cannot write for whatever reason, you must promise that _you_ will write. You must promise that you will wait for me. That you will love me even without me by your side. For now.”

Wonwoo rubs his thumbs into the most sensitive parts of Mingyu’s neck. A whimper leaves Mingyu’s lips as Wonwoo follows the pattern of the kisses Mingyu had gifted him before.

“I will write,” a kiss to the forehead, “I will wait,” a kiss to the nose, “and I will continue to love you.”

The final kiss on the lips starts off longing, a little feverish, before it transforms into something viciously unquiet. It’s like taking gulps of cold peach juice after an endless day of summer hunting, like baring your muscle and bones and secrets to someone else who desires to show the same. It is the mutualistic urgency and want that reacquaints Mingyu with a familiar, heated dizziness.

“You asked for a send-off,” Wonwoo says breathlessly upon separation. With the hidden strength of a dragon caretaker, he hauls Mingyu onto the grass with arms bracketed beside Mingyu’s face. “In that same vein, I ask for a good-bye present. Or, rather, a ‘see you again’ present.”

Mingyu grins up at him. It has been months of nothing but this view—Wonwoo, haloed by light, nature, the stars—but this never-ending fluttering sensation that rises in Mingyu’s chest has never faltered. Not even once. He wants to burn this sight into his eyelids the way it has burned onto his chest.

Mingyu says, “You— _we_ —shall receive it,” before toppling Wonwoo over in a fit of laughter and, despite Wonwoo’s corrections, tender farewells.

(Upon waking at six AM, Wonwoo discovers a letter and package slipped beneath the doorframe of his bedroom.

It reads:

_My dearest Wonwoo,_

_First, in this letter I have enclosed a dagger. I can already sense the narrowing of your eyes and the sharp intake of your breath. Please, fear not, I do not intend for you to use it to hurt. It is a delicate keepsake. It belonged to my grandfather before his passing. My mother had given it to me when I received the letter from the academy. It bears great sentimental value, and I trust that you will care for it until I return._

_Second, for all the worth I have imbued into my academy oath, I came to the egregious realization that I have yet to speak an oath for you. I hope you excuse my crude attempt at poetry. I had thought of rousing you briefly to recite it myself, but I can already imagine the twisted face you would give me. In the end, I decided that a recitation would be something for both of us to look forward to upon our next meeting face-to-face._

_Here it is in written words, so you may have it permanently inked somewhere to read:_

_Over meadows and into blizzard snow  
Through the winds that bind me to this earth  
Across the mountains that She hath sown  
My heart is sworn to fractions of your worth_

_No law, nor armor; no sword, nor shield,  
No danger, nor doom; no day, nor night  
Will keep me from trespassing every field  
Until we meet again by starlight_

_I swear I will find you until Days end  
I am deeply yours, my lover, my friend._)

Soldier life is too monotone, devoid of festive music and far too bleak for a person like Mingyu. He thrives on energy and color, on affection and attention. None of that is here besides the crumbs of letters he exchanges with Wonwoo, who is too many miles away.

_My dearest Wonwoo,_

_It has been a fortnight on duty and I am maddening quickly. As you had rightly pointed out, I took for granted the wealth of food at the academy dining halls. Here, the food is cold and stale. No personality or lovely, smiling matrons at the helm! The beds are still hard, blankets still thin. Aside from the letters, my only other reassurance is my squadron. My mates have yet to renounce their kindness for power or safety, contrary to many others._

_I try to exchange letters with my parents and sister as well. But, as I had expected, it is hard for three people to write a single paragraph with much coherence. It is still entertaining to read. My sister has chosen the path of a writer, much to my mother’s disdain. Her heart has always been soft for romance and adventure, but not for the outside elements. I, for one, think it suits her! Perhaps I shall rewrite one of her poems in my next letter to you, if you are interested._

_Despite being separated from Minghao by team assignment, I am very grateful for his efforts to continue meeting during meal times. It is rare to find people who treat you with any lick of concern here, let alone actively search for you during one our most vulnerable half-hours. Never more have I missed drinking from your water flask under the shade of the field cedars. It is too cramped here._

_I am being yelled at to hurry up and finish writing so the candles can be extinguished. Apologies for the abrupt conclusion. I will update you once I am given the opportunity._

_Yours,  
Mingyu_

_My dearest Wonwoo,_

_Today was the first day on the battlefield. It was a paltry experience. This is certainly preferable over action. We entered an abandoned village, previously belonging to one of the other warring kingdoms. It was entirely empty except for a father and daughter we found in one of the more stable cottages. Squadron leader left them alone. Others are more ruthless. Mercy, whatever form, is scarce and to be thanked._

_Quartz grows unsettled. She could not stop whining for any moment I separated from her. I will sleep beside her tonight. I am currently writing this on my bed roll, next to her in the stables. I am not bothered by this arrangement. You and I have slept on the grass with her on occasion, if you remember. It smells ashier here than at the academy barns. It must be the weapons they store nearby._

_I will have to cut my letter short today. My eyes are closing as I write. Maintaining an oil lantern on a floor of hay is also probably a bad idea. I sorely miss you._

_Yours,  
Mingyu_

_My dearest Wonwoo,_

_Please forgive me. I know it has been long since I sent my last letter. Activity is picking up rapidly. There are nights I can barely bring myself to clean up before bed; such is already a luxury. Quartz acts out. While restraining her once, she shot fire into my arm. I was luckily wearing armor, but it burnt through the leather underside. Do not worry. I am fine._

_Thank you for all your letters. Truly, they are bright lights in a sky of darkness. I love you._

_Always Yours,  
Mingyu_

_Dear Young Master Jeon,_

_I am Minghao, an academy friend and army comrade of Mingyu’s. As you probably know (given your “secret” rendezvous for the past many years), Mingyu has an aptitude and diligence for dragon riding. Despite recent friction, it is rare to see such natural interactions between soldier and beast beyond typical warfare behavior. You have taught him and his partner well._

_However, such skills and mindset have also afforded him, for better or worse, the greater graces of higher-ups here. He and his beast are overworked. He is inundated with talk of nationalism daily—and he was already poor at refusals before the continent fell to shit. You probably know that, too._

_Despite this letter, you must beware of the danger in speaking offense towards the kingdom. I am sending this through a trusted, secret contact. Please do not mention any of this in your next letter. And, if you are not already, I implore you to practice patience, faith, and good health. That is the best you can do at this time._

_Best,  
Minghao_

_My dearest Mingyu,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, or, at least, better than before. Quartz has always been inclined towards unrest with you, but this is a new extreme for her. All the noise and human turmoil must affect her heavily. When handling her, remember to focus on holding her by the neck or horns while avoiding the hind legs, tail, and mouth. I have told you this a million times and only a scant few ever stick. Care for Quartz, but care for yourself, too._

_It is surprisingly quiet here, though it might be because you are away. The elder dragons must sense the war for even they prefer to stay indoors. My father says that they have always been old, gentle creatures. They were never meant for war. Neither were humans, I suppose, but we are creative and angry enough to say otherwise._

_Running the barns for the academy is a blessing even until now. The lower kingdom circles foresee encroaching famine and disrepair.I do not know whether sudden disaster is better or worse than unhurried plague. For once, I am glad Mother is not with us. It would pain me to see her suffer, as it pains me to see you suffer. My heart aches for you. I read your oath every night. I dream of hearing you say them to me one day._

_Remember our promise. I expect you to see it through. I miss you dearly._

_Always Yours,  
Wonwoo_

Years pass. War ensues. Many are lost, and continue to be lost.

As Wonwoo continues to tend to the barns, the remaining inhabitants become older and older with the army leaching every possible weaponry stores—including beasts. The ills of war have rendered Sir Jeon weak. Regardless, Wonwoo is capable of tending to the barns each day, even if alone. It is rarely any trouble. The elder beasts are quiet, mature, understanding of the mess beyond the meadows. Besides, there is no more need for lessons with the dragons at the academy. It is quiet here, unnervingly so.

Letters are few and far between. If it is not a week without word, it is a month. If it is not a month, it is two. And now, six months have withered without a sound, or at least the kind Wonwoo has yearned to hear for a while.

He hears from others sometimes, too. It was not difficult to discern that Jun, traveling son of the royal horse stables, was Minghao’s secret intermediate for all those unsavory deliverances. Always about the war, rarely about Mingyu aside from reassurances that he is, at least, alive. Busy. Overworked. All are a tragic spoil of Mingyu’s hard work, really. Wonwoo is almost guilty for having a hand in the polishing of rough stone.

The real tragedy, however, is how the smoke and fires of militant action have dissolved nearly all the stars. The darkest hours have truly turned dark. Wonwoo has resorted to using portable light crystals to guide him to and from the barns at night.

It is long past curfew when Wonwoo approaches Quartz’s mother in her barn stall. She has aged so much since Quartz has left.

“I know that it hurts to miss those you love,” he says to her, rubbing her snout. Her nostrils smolder before extinguishing quickly. “We must continue to have faith. Such is the difficult endeavor we must bear in our hearts. For them.”

She rubs up against his palm, whining something roughened, like an old porcelain vase to sandpaper. The skin around her eyes is weathered and hard, now only a dull reflection of the opalescent glimmers in her child’s hide. She is not the eldest beast there, but she has lived long enough to witness many things—except, perhaps, the loss of something which held so much of her love.

Suddenly, there is a noise. Outside the barn.

Both Wonwoo and the dragon beside him are instantly receptive to it. It was a heavy noise, almost purposeful in its singularity. It cannot be a small field animal or an inexperienced thief. Wonwoo’s hand instinctively finds the dagger tied by a sash at his waist.

As he tip-toes away, a claw tugs at his shirt. Let me go with you, the gesture says. Wonwoo complies.

Wonwoo may not have been a student in the more sought-after dragon riding and physical training courses offered by the academy, but he was still a student once upon a time. He has learned a few things about combat and stealth—oddly enough all from the same loud, bumbling, yet endearing fool—and manages to minimize the noise beneath his feet. Quartz’s mother is seasoned enough, too, to follow suit.

Upon reaching the backdoor, both of them sense an undeniable presence behind it. The mother dragon growls, bearing the full set of her impressively sharp, impressively terrifying teeth.

When the door opens, Wonwoo immediately unsheathes his dagger and _lunges_.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” laughs the stranger, voice coarse but clear. “I have had many an expectation of this day, but this, surprisingly, is not one of them. Perhaps it should have been.”

Wonwoo had managed to pin to the worn bricked barn wall, dagger to throat, this unwelcome trespasser. Who is not entirely unwelcome, as it were.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo breathes. “You are…here.”

“I am with a master of warm greetings, I see.”

“Do you?”

“It doesn’t take two eyes to see you.”

Something wells in Wonwoo at the sight of Mingyu’s face. The soft edges have worn to a ragged sharpness. His hair has grown longer and sits tied with a dark ribbon at the base of his hairline. But, most prominent and most wrenching, is the smooth, leather cover atop his right eye, strung around his head with a thick thread. Beside it, the left eye is curled, gleaming, and bright in the most familiar way.

Wonwoo sheathes the dagger. With the same hand, trembling, he presses a palm to Mingyu’s cheek.

“What happened?” he manages.

“As it turns out,” Mingyu says, “you have a clairvoyance that challenges even the greatest, trickiest prophets.”

He nods his head towards Quartz, now a proper beast in her adult size and royal armaments. Even with her rabid enthusiasm for her mother, it is easy to spot that one of her pristinely white horns is stained red at the very tip.

Mingyu grins a little. “Who knew that good sight in _both_ eyes was necessary for me to work?”

Wonwoo grips that cheek harder. “Say anything more and I will do what the war could not finish.”

“Well, before my departure, you only specified preserving my limbs, after all, and I _am_ mostly intact—“

Wonwoo tackles Mingyu into the grass. There are tears in his eyes. Mingyu wipes them away, before they can fall down upon and obscure the lenses.

“You are a fool,” Wonwoo hisses. “The loudest, oft bumbling, most endearing fool.”

“You have kept my grandfather’s dagger safe. Mostly,” says Mingyu, “Thank you.”

“I cannot say the same for the heart I have laid in your hands,” Wonwoo says, leaning down until they are nose to nose. Mingyu now smells of soot, tanned leather, and iron, but it is not unpleasant. “Though I never intended for you to return it.”

Mingyu bites off his riding gloves before pulling Wonwoo fully into a long-awaited kiss.

It is grittier than before, likely because of the new roughness in Mingyu’s war-weathered physicality. They are both older now, less bound to simple desire and instead desiring the simple soul and warmth of another who can provide it tenfold, a millionfold, and unconditionally so. How rare it must be to find something this special so soon—and still alive.

Given the fervor of Mingyu’s initiation, it must take a wealth of willpower to gently push Wonwoo away. He helps them both sit up on the grass.

“I am hoping,” says Mingyu, “that with so many jobs unmanned, perhaps there is an opening at the academy’s dragon barns for another caretaker.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen. “But you—your passions have always pointed towards the sky. Your spirit is not meant to be grounded with such a preoccupation.”

“I have learned that I do not need to be in the sky to feel its vigor.” Mingyu takes Wonwoo’s hands in his, shakes them a little. “Your own spirit is like a star, and yet you are here on earth.”

Wonwoo chokes out a laugh. The war has not killed off that sickening sweetness, apparently.

“I,” says Wonwoo. His voice falters a little. “I will look into it. The head caretaker will need some convincing, you know, given your…unexceptional performance in beast theory.”

“Ah, of course. I hope you still accept my sincere gratitudes. Oh! I almost forgot. How embarrassing.”

Mingyu clears his throat, adjusts and tightens his grip on Wonwoo’s fingers. The puff of his chest is as much of an alert as his presence is, really here, sitting right in front of Wonwoo.

“Over meadows and into blizzard snow,” Mingyu starts. “Through the winds that bind me to this earth…”

He continues through the rest of his rudimentary oath. It is exactly as written. And, having read over and over and memorized the damn thing, Wonwoo joins him. Neither one becomes out of sync, neither loses grasp of the intentions they have pocketed for this long—for this moment.

Under the dim crystalline lights hung from the barn roof, they both finally recite, foreheads against one another:

“I swear I will find you until Days end. I am deeply yours, my lover, my friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d love to know what you think. Also, now that we’re on the Internet more often collectively, please don’t forget to support the writers and artists who are contributing to the drastic uptake in content consumption. Stay safe!
> 
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